


Wasn't My Fault

by BlueInHere



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:07:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueInHere/pseuds/BlueInHere
Summary: Aziraphale calls Crowley out on his bs.





	Wasn't My Fault

The Bentley rumbled to a halt outside the bookshop. With a wave, the key turned in the ignition and the engine died. Crowley stepped out and headed towards the bookshop door. He pushed it open, completely ignoring the clear ‘closed’ sign. The jingle of the bell declared his attendance.

“Alright, Angel, what’s the-” he took one step into the threshold and was fixed into place. “What the hell?” he glanced down to his feet to find he was standing in a pentagram created purely out of salt. “Are you kidding me?” Crowley growled, gesturing to the trap on the floor.

“Ah, wont be a moment, my dear boy,” Aziraphale mumbled, hidden from view by the network of old books, shelves and bookcases.

“You said it was urgent!”

“It is,” the angel peered out from behind one of the bookcases and virtually marched up to Crowley, stopping just short of the circle. “Now you’re going to listen to me whether you like it or not.”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Like I have a choice.”

“A local parish priest stole a hearse. I assume that was your doing?”

“What?” Crowley spread his hands. “I was bored and I thought it’d be funny.”

“You know he was mine to protect!” the angel snapped, pointing a manicured finger at him.

“Hey, he didn’t _have_ to steal it,” Crowley shrugged. “That free will thing was your side’s idea after all.”

“What happened to the Arrangement? This isn’t how it works, Crowley.”

“Sure it does. Anyway, there’s plenty of evil doers out there that need saving, take your pick.”

“And how am I going to explain this to Gabriel or the like?” Aziraphale asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oops?”

“Oops? Oops! Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you want from me? I’m sorry, okay?”

“Oh, you’re sorry?” the angel cocked his head and looked quite smug. He was bloody enjoying this.

“Yes, so very sorry,” Crowley sneered and pointed to the floor. “Now if-”

“I haven’t finished.”

“Ugh,” the demon rolled his eyes.

“You will stop messing with priests,” the finger pointing continued.

“Fine.”

“And cease interfering with politics.”

“Hey, don’t look at me, that’s not my mess.”

“That remark the European council made wasn’t your idea?”

“Oh come on. You don’t think that was just a little bit amusing?”

“Not at all, Crowley.”

“Okay, so he told them to go to Hell, big deal. You really think Below are rearranging the furniture to create that ‘special place’ for them?”

The angel put his hand up, silencing Crowley. “I don’t care,” he said. “Stop your meddling. Remember the last time we interfered with politics?”

Crowley crossed his arms once again and huffed. “The Crusades were part of your side, not mine.”

“1605?”

“The king was mad. Besides, I wasn’t even there, I was in Poland.” Aziraphale glared at him and he was sure he saw golden fire flicker behind those blue eyes. “What? That wasn’t my fault either.”

“And I suppose 1793 wasn’t ‘your fault either’,” the angel mocked.

“Right. Fine,” Crowley sighed. “I just happened to mention to one little writer that ‘France wasn’t what it used to be and at this point it might as well be free-for-all.’ How was I supposed to know that was going to fuel a revolution?” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and Crowley snorted. “What can I say? I can’t compete with humans, they have a certain knack. Now could you maybe-”

“There’s another thing.”

Crowley sighed and adjusted his sunglasses. "And that is?"

“Stop coming here at ungodly hours just to pass out on my couch. It’s not dignified.”

The demon snickered. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not stupid. You bang on my door in a stupor, staggering on my doorstep, lean on my sympathy to the point were I can’t simply turn you away and then proceed to snooze on my couch,” Aziraphale threw his hands onto his hips. “It’s becoming a weekly occurrence, not to mention an annoyance.”

“Yeah, but look on the bright side, I scare off unwelcome customers.”

“I…hmm…" Aziraphale's eyes dropped to the floor. "you do have a point and there have been fewer customers.”

“Well then there you go. Anything else you want to get off your chest? I’m not going anywhere apparently.”

“There is one thing...”

“Yess?” he hissed.

“You owe me lunch.”

“The Ritz?” Crowley already knew the answer. The angel couldn't resist a hearty meal with good wine. 

“The Ritz,” Aziraphale nodded.

“Great. Now could you?” Crowley waved at the circle.

"Ah," the angel put his foot over the edge and swiped the salt away breaking the circle. Crowley was immensely revealed to be able to move again and rushed out of the pentagram and into the street. He rolled his shoulders, he didn't want to see one of those things for another hundred or so years. Aziraphale followed him out, took his time to lock the door then turned and linked arms with Crowley. “I’m still not happy with you,” he said.

“I know, Angel,” Crowley smirked. “I’ll make it up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in _months_ , and I wrote this little thing to ease myself back into writing. Inspired by [this](https://www.deviantart.com/ryounkura/art/it-s-sort-of-a-safety-net-for-them-dear-282490912) and the recent political shambles.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
